Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or situations mentioned in this story, they are the property of the genius of Mr J.R.R. Tolkien... If they were mine, their stories would have gone somewhat diffrent.:P

Author's note: Ok, this is by far the most spontaneous story I've ever written. The idea came out of nowhere while I was reading "The Sillmarillion" (a chapter where there's no mention of Saruman, might I add") and the whole story was complete within an hour. I usually get fascinated by the villains and above all, their death scenes, hence this one. It's been a while since I last read LotR, but I believe it was said down there that Saruman perished for good and his spirit was scattered never to be whole again. I found the idea of an immortal maia dying intriguing and it popped into my head it would be interesting to know what he was thinking when he realised this was his end and Grima was the one who brought it upon him.*Aah, the irony and angst* Probably I will rewrite this in the future and make it longer if I get some new ideas. Okkay, enough of my ranting.

In case someone doesn't know this - Saruman was one of the Istari, a group of the Maiar sent by the Valar to help the folk of Middle-earth fight the Shadow; and his Maiar name was Curumo.

~*~ The Death of an Immortal ~*~

I am Curumo the Maia, Ainu, the Messenger of the Valar.

I am Saruman the Istari, mighty Wizard, head of the White Council.

I was made for great deeds, to last beyond Arda and to wield power unimaginable to any mortal mind upon this Earth.



I am dying, slain by the hand of a mortal man. I choke with my own blood and see it sink into the earth and mix with its substance. I see it pour out and stain my white robes ..

White??? They used to be .. Now red circles spread over the grey fabric and darken until they are blacker than the ground beneath me.

But this is unnatural, it cannot be happening, no mortal man could kill me .. I am powerful ..

I am ..

I had so much power .. When I looked into the Palantir for the first time and when I designed my plans to acquire the Ring..When I betrayed the White Council and imprisoned Gandalf the Grey .. Even when the Ents attacked my Tower and I was forced to flee from the wrath of the Forest ..When I conquered Shire and made those foolish halflings my subjects ..

Where has it all gone? I see each of these moments clearly now and I see the power radiating from me .. And not returning.

And yet .. How is that possible? This cannot be real..

But I realize the truth as I look into the eyes of my slayer, burning into mine with intensity, observing my agony with fascination and satisfaction of revenge finally achieved. These eyes speak of long-suppressed hate, of years of humilliation and pain I inflicted upon him. They speak of death.

No, I cannot perish. I shall be reborn. I am a Maia, an immortal spirit of Aman, a creation of Eru, He wouldn't let me..

Is my sin so great that I shall be denied the basic right of even most minor creatures??

And again the truth sinks in by itself, for within me, I already know the answer. As the red liquid pours out from my veins I feel my spirit shatter and the pieces depart in all directions, never to be reunited again..

What shall I become?? Will there be any "I" ?? Will I be aware of anything? Of my own existence? Of what I once was? Who shall rememeber me if I shall not remember myself?? I am drifting apart and each piece of my spirit becomes but a minor, thoughtless shadow, forever searching for its companions, forever straying and craving, forever feeling the pain of its severance..

The worst fear of the Elves and Men becomes my fate - I .. I disappear.

I disappear knowing there is no one to mourn my undoing. No one who would want to remember my existence for more than I was in the last days of my life. Saruman the Betrayer. Saruman the Servant of Sauron. Curumo the fallen Maia.

The eyes of my slayer tell me he knows this, somehow. And his lips move and tell me it serves me well.

I am Curumo the Maia, Ainu, the Messenger of the Valar.

I am Saruman the Istari, mighty Wizard, head of the White Council.

I was made for great deeds, to last beyond Arda and to wield power unimaginable to any mortal mind upon this Earth.

I am bleeding to death in the mud.

~END~